Windowsill (Weekly Writing Challenge)

“In this week’s writing challenge, guest host Lorianne DiSabato invites you to turn the familiar into the exotic.” – Weekly Writing Challenge

A school break is just what I need. Away from all the assignments and seat works feels like you’ve won a lottery. As I breathe in the summer breeze outside our house, I notice a small windowsill in the attic part of my Grandmother’s house, which is across us.

Confusion invades my mind as I asked myself why I didn’t notice it before. Suddenly, even if the sun’s rays pass through it, a pair of eyes appear. I freeze from my position. The pupils of the eyes are white. The hairs on my body begin to rise. I try to calm my breathing with no success.

The air begins to breeze again, as if they’re pushing me forward. My feet willingly move. I keep on walking towards the house, up the stairs until I’m facing a front door, where the stairs to the attic will be. I open the door and make my way upstairs.

Dusts meet my nostrils and I sneeze. I take in my surroundings. Loads of both used and unused stuff covers the area. I have to duck a bit to fit myself. I walk towards the windowsill, where I saw the pair of eyes. The fear I felt earlier infuses me again.

I’m about to touch the windowsill when a crawling sound stops me. I turn around, but sees nothing. Before I even touch the windowsill, the sound strikes again. They’re definitely not from a small thing. The tune sounds heavy and huge. Like from a human.

The large cabinet near the door creaks. I stand still from my position. It is slowly opening as I hold my breath. I walk towards it when it is fully opened. The cabinet contains nothing except for a single, old photo. I pick it up and look at it.

A woman that seems to be annoyed posed for the picture. Her jaw was clenched and her eyes screamed fury. I look behind the photo. A note is written. “Will never leave. Remember.” It says. I flip the photo around several times. Finding nothing special, I’m about to put it again in the cabinet when a view from a photo stops me.

Behind the woman is a house. My grandmother’s house, to be exact. I feel my lips part as creep crawls under my skin.

A hiss abruptly come behind me. Even with my frigid body, I slowly turn around. And wish I didn’t.

The woman in the picture is standing a few steps away from me. Her pupils are white and dark spots cover her face. They seem to be like dried blood. With nothing else to do, I step backwards until my hand reaches the doorknob and turns it. It won’t budge.

The woman’s eyes widen and she screams loud. The sound is tearing my ears apart even if I already covered them. She walks towards me, her feet are not even touching the ground. Panic sets in me. I turn to the door and it still won’t open.

A frail, darkened hand encloses my neck and turns me around. It looks weak, but when it grips me, I can’t breathe. She knocks my head in the door and pain shoots through it. She lifts me off the ground and forces my face to look at her.

My body is flailing and she just tightened her hold. I try to remove her hand around my neck, but it won’t dislodge. She yells before she claws my face with her free hands. I scream from pain and I feel liquids slipping down to my face. Some flows down to my lips and my tongue seeps them. It’s blood. My own blood.

“This is mine!” The woman screams. “This is ours! We built this, but they killed him! I promised him I would have this in ever! I was at peace when your family decided to take what’s mine! Money, they just what money that I couldn’t give and they’re already taking what’s ours! This is ours! You have no right to take what’s ours!” She claws my face again. “I will stay here! I will stay!”

The summer breeze turns cold as they pass through the now open windowsill. The stuff in the area begins to move towards the windowsill, like it’s a vacuum.  “Remember that!” She screams, before her hands loosen and her body moves along with the things of the room, towards the windowsill.

A smoke puffs out before the windowsill closes itself with a loud thud. I jump out as a hand is shaking my arms. “Hey, honey? Hey. Where’d you go?” I blink several times and look around me. I’m standing outside our house, the summer breeze touching my skin. I look at my mother. “Uhm, nothing.”

My mother gives me a sad smile. “You’re daydreaming again.” She gently taps my cheeks. “Come on, we’re going to be late for our schedule for our meeting with Mrs. Sanders. She’s dying to see your grandmother’s house.” She walks towards our car.

I look at my grandmother’s house again, with a “House and Lot for sale” board at the gates. I turn my eyes upward, to the windowsill at the attic part. No pair of white-pupils eyes. Just an ordinary windowsill that I noticed today.


6 thoughts on “Windowsill (Weekly Writing Challenge)

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